Peace
by Captain MeraSparrow
Summary: James Norrington has died. Life went on, although the grief stayed long--even to those who never expected to be affected. Lingering traces and sentiments bring peace to that old wound. A series of oneshots.


**Guilt**

The guilt had never left. Nearly a decade had passed, and yet it was still her fault. She had killed him. She had kept him talking. She had not given him the proper chance. She had let time slip away when time was so important. And then he was dead. His last action had been to save her from almost certain death. She had killed him.

Elizabeth sighed, lifting her head off her fist. What was she doing, wasting time moping at a little wooden table? Supper needed making. It was one of _those_ days; a day when the only thing she could think about was everything that had happened so long ago, when everything was complicated. She shook her head to clear it, and strode to the kitchen of her simple little cottage. Life was simple now. She had a simple home, a simple profession. She had a son, and a faithful husband who would one day return. She should have been happy. But when the memories came, so did the guilt.

Unable to focus on the usually simple task of preparing supper, she leaned her elbows on the counter and let the tears falls. "I'm sorry, James. I'm so sorry. I've been sorry for all these years—why can't you leave me in peace?" Every time the guilt came, the grief came also. Not only James, but her father, and even her husband, who had been the subject of a curse debilitating to their marriage. The wise woman Tia Dalma had said Elizabeth's father had been at peace in death. She found comfort in that. And Will would return in less than two years. But when it came to James Norrington—the man Fate had despised—she found no solace. His death had been violent, and the cause of it was only his love for her. A love so strong that, even unrequited and in the sight of her future husband, never failed. His only purpose in life had been to see her happy. Even at that time when he had lost himself and made rash decisions, he had not drifted from that purpose.

She knew that when Will returned, with ship and crew, she would not be able to face his father, who would be with him. That man had been James' murderer, and despite the insanity that had brought on the action, she could not think of him as anything but. Perhaps she had loved James Norrington after all. Though sadly, not quite in the manner he had once hoped for.

Sometimes at night, she would stay awake, wondering what life would be like if things had been different. She would imagine she had chosen him over Will. But she knew the outcome every time. Neither of them would have been happy in the end. If he had escaped death that fateful night? Perhaps he would have joined the pirates as he had before, and help them defeat Beckett. Perhaps he might have silently killed Beckett with the skill of an assassin, ending the war before it ever needed to be fought. Or perhaps he would have killed Jones and been subject to the curse Will was under now. Then death could never touch him. Sometimes she saw him happily finding love. Other times, she saw him happily on his own ship, doing what he loved best. And then the little voice in her mind would remind her that none of those possibilities could ever come to be, for their subject had died long, long ago. He would never find happiness now. Was he at peace? She knew there was so much he regretted, so much that had never been said.

"Can you ever forgive me, James?"

At last the simple meal had been made, requiring much more effort than it usually needed. She went outside to fetch young William. The young lad was shaping up nicely. Well behaved, intelligent, honest; every bit like his father. A spitting image, a father-son tradition that matched the succeeding names. He was playing with his dog atop the great cliff that overlooked the bay. That bay was the last place she had seen the senior Will. And it was the first place their son would see him. She paused in the doorway to admire the scene; her son on the hilltop, the setting sun behind him. He and the dog were chasing one another round and round, in some wild game of tag. The child's delighted laughter rang out into the evening, and in spite of her mood, Elizabeth was able to smile. "William, come inside for supper," she called. It seemed he didn't hear her, and she did not repeat herself, content to watch him play.

Round and round he chased the dog; round and round the dog chased him. They zigged and zagged and leapt and rolled. Lost in her thoughts, Elizabeth did not realize they were getting nearer and nearer to the edge of the cliff—until her son suddenly disappeared from sight with a cry of surprise. "William!" Frantic, his mother raced from the cottage and sprinted up the hill. Before she reached the top, she saw him. He had merely tripped and fallen out of her line of vision. The cliff's edge was a safe distance away.

But this was not what stopped her in her tracks. Someone was crouched over her fallen son, comforting him. Were those wings? Perhaps she was imagining things. The tall, misty figure reached out to pet the boy's hair, like a comforting father, then gently helped him to sit up. Before she could ask who it was, the figure turned its head to face her, and the words died on her lips. Kind, smiling eyes of such a nostalgic green met hers for a moment that seemed to stretch into an eternity, a serene smile and a soft, warm glow. They stared at one another for a long moment, before young William noticed his mother staring into space. "Mother, my leg hurts," he said, and she remembered her son who had nearly fallen over the cliff.

"Did you hurt it?" she at last found her voice, and she went to him. The translucent figure faded as she neared, like a rainbow that could not be caught, and as she knelt by her son, she was soon uncertain whether anything had been there in the first place.

"I think I must have." He stood up.

"You can stand on it; it must not be bad. Come inside and we'll have a look at it. And after that, supper. It'll be cold by now; we can warm it up together." And, her arm around him, they went back toward the house. But she could not help sparing a glance over her shoulder to that place atop the hill. That place was empty, and nothing stirred the grasses overlooking the sea. Still, she felt that loving green gaze following them back to their home. She would never really know why, but as she and her son shared their meal and it came time for a bedtime story, she felt as though a great unknown weight had lifted off her shoulders, and that life could be simple and happy again.

"Can you ever forgive me, James?"

_You never needed forgiving._


End file.
